


Dream of Emptiness

by DG_Fletcher



Category: The Addams Family (1991)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Old Married Couple, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DG_Fletcher/pseuds/DG_Fletcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morticia and Gomez share a nightmare and are cute about it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream of Emptiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UrbanAmazon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrbanAmazon/gifts).



GOMEZ: 

Gomez had nightmares; this was normal. He always had nightmares. He was famous for having nightmares. Usually they were odd little bizarre things that were monsters and demons to fight, and terrible little awful things that made him toss and turn and that was how sleep had always been. It was a family thing. Fester had the same problem growing up, and his father had thrown sleepwalking into the mix and been the cause of many dreadful adventures that way. 

But this night, it was worse. Strange. Unpleasant in a boring, crippling, depression-inducing way. Like when they'd been stuck in the hotel and he'd had nothing to be for a long period of time, but, if possible worse, like all the mundane torment that was those few weeks had all been crammed into a five minute dream and presented in high concentration. 

Death was romantic. The thought of he and Morticia, rotting together side by side was something they'd discussed and planned together for years. 

This nightmare, she'd just been -gone-. 

Not abandoned him, not left him, not been taken somewhere he could rescue her, simply not there at all. As if somehow, she wasn't there at all anymore and had never been there and that was all there was to it. Her absence as his normal, and it was very nearly unbearable. 

There wasn't even the insane, rage-inducing passion of her loss in this dream--although thinking about that made him wrap his fingers through hers in the dark and move so her slightly age-padded shoulder was pressing against his chest and he could smell her lovely long air with the streaks of gray in it. 

It was a dream of cold, empty nothing, at an intensity to leave him hollow, lying here next to her warmth and needing it right up against him. It was the numb that was that dreadful hotel and loss of heritage and being reduced to nothing but a mediocre nobody--but instead of between his house and family name, it was between him and his Beloved. 

It was unpleasant, uncomfortable, disconcerting, and he held himself against her as tightly as he dared, trying not to wake her, but he ran the back of his fingers against her face and let the comfort of every single line on her face fill the horrible emptiness that was the nightmare of none of it having ever happened. It had happened. She'd been there. She'd seen it. She'd been with him. She existed. She was here with him and always had been. 

"Mon cherie?" she mumbled, and the sound of her voice broke through the dark that was their room and made everything both better by being there--and for a split second, worse, because it reminded him he'd dreamed of her voice being absent forever as well. 

"I didn't mean to wake you, querida," he said.  
\---  
MORTICIA: 

"You didn't," Morticia said. "I've been up for awhile," 

Morticia rarely had nightmares. She normally slept quite peacefully all night every night and only woke to comfort and cuddle her beloved husband. 

But this night, she'd had a nightmare. Nothing solid, not a story she could tell, but just a feeling of emptiness, loneliness that went deeper than she'd felt in a long time. 

Her sister Ophelia had visited a few days ago. While Morticia loved Ophelia dearly, Ophelia didn't often make much sense. She had an "eye phone" with no eyes in it, a Honda Fit that didn't fit anywhere, and didn't like the taste of cyanide enough to really enjoy Mortica's tea anyway. 

After Ophelia had left, it put Morticia in a bit of a mood.

There were moments where the house was "empty" now. Fester was there, puttering around down in the basement, up to things as always. Morticia's mother had passed on a few years ago and the house wasn't the same without her, either. Lurch never spoke much anyway.

Wednesday... well, they'd said "college first" in regards to witchcraft, so she'd gone and found a College of Witchcraft. Pugsly was in and out of jail so much with the sign-stealing thing they'd finally just had him buy something that could -make- the signs himself. 

Her lovely darling Pubert would be back soon though. A few weeks ago, he'd found one of the old books, "Wilds of Africa", written back in the 1800s and had gone off looking for adventure. According to his letters, he'd gotten as far as Dar es Salaam in Tanzania and discovered that the most "wild" thing about it was the night life and was working on a way back home. 

But the emptiness had boiled itself and crafted itself and twisted in on itself to become the first genuine nightmare she'd had in decades. 

Gomez had courted death all his life. She'd been prepared for the day one or both of them died on each other ever since she'd first laid eyes on him at the funeral in the moonlight, but the nightmare was one of emptiness. 

A searingly terrible feeling of "what if they'd never met", "what if they'd never been together and it was just her, wandering life alone without him". What if she'd been forced to live her life without the sparkle in his eyes, the happiness to see her, to be with her, to be there for her, and she for him. 

-Gomez- was used to nightmares, and she would lay there with him and pull him close to her, wrap her hands across his chest and soothe him into deeper sleep. This was normal and something they'd always done. It was one of her special things she did for him.

They spent their days with him there for her, holding her hand, guiding her around, sweeping her off her feet, dancing with her, kissing her arm, her face--and at night, behind the closed doors, when there was no pestering distractions, when it was just the two of them together: "later darling" became "right now for as long as the night allows".

He ran his hand across her face now and looked more forlorn than he'd been in a long time. 

"What's the matter darling?" she asked, pulling closer to him and tangling their feet together. 

He kissed her in the dark. "To say it was a 'nightmare' is to say the sun rises in the morning," he said. "This was no nightmare, it was beyond a nightmare! This was... this was... To be without you, to have never known you, I don't know who I'd be, I don't know what I'd -do- with myself, and after whatever that was." 

She ran her hand through his hair. "A dream of emptiness?"

He nodded and kissed their entangled hands and there was a tear streak down his face.

"Oh my beloved darling," She said, pressing her forehead against his, "Are we so much the other's mirror that I accidentally gave you my nightmare?"

He looked horrified. "Cara mia," he said, "If that pain of emptiness is your nightmare, I grieve for every moment you've slept!" 

She caught the tear sparkle in the dark and stroked is face for it. "Darling, every night spent in nocturne terrors is your burden to bear." 

"If mine were that terrible, I don't think I'd ever dare sleep again!" 

"Me neither," she said. 

And they cuddled and finally went back to sleep.


End file.
